Plant Lavender for Luck
by Phoenix-Talon
Summary: A Practical Magic AU. Belle and Emma Owens are two witch sisters under a curse—that any many they love is doomed to die. Rumbelle & Swanfire.
1. Amas Veritas

On a cold, October day, two young girls with clasped hands warily eyed a three story Victorian house.

An ominous breeze blew, scattering dead leaves around them, and the brunette shivered in agitation. "I don't like it," She whispered.

The blonde girl squeezed her hand. "It's okay, Belle," She winked at her sister. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Belle squinted her eyes shut, trying to imagine home. Before here, they'd lived on a warm beach, the sun shining every day. She visualized her family laughing on the beach, splashing each other with salty water, her mother's face bright and happy.

"I miss mommy," She whimpered. "And daddy. Emma, can't we go home?"

"This is our home now," Emma said confidently. "It'll be all right. I promise. We'll always be together. That's what sisters are for."

"Half-sisters," Belle said glumly, eyeing Emma's pretty golden curls enviously. She'd always wished she was as beautiful and strong as Emma.

Emma frowned. "_Sisters_," She insisted. "We're blood, no matter what. Don't talk like that, Belly-button."

The doors of the Victorian house opened and two older women fluttered out, clucking sympathetically. The first wore a green sparkling dress that brought to mind a shiny beetle—she looked a bit like Emma with her blonde hair and blue-gray eyes, though there was more mischief in her gaze.

The second wore darker clothes. She was also blonde, but her beautiful face was sharply angled and she spoke in honeyed tones.

"Poor little dears," She crooned, gathering an uncomfortable Emma and Belle into her arms. "In this house," Her voice was stern. "_We have chocolate cake for breakfast_."

Emma let out a surprised shriek of a giggle and the aunts looked pleased.

"Poor motherless darlings," The lady in green sighed, hugging them to her chest. "You just call me Tink, all right? And if there's anything you need—"

"Her real name," The one in black confided. "Is Theodora."

Aunt Tink scowled. "As I was _saying_ you can call for Tink or your Aunt _Malinda_."

Aunt Malinda made a hideous face. "Please. Girls, just call me Aunt Mal."

Belle felt something soft rub up against her bare legs and gasped to see a purring kitten, the color of coal, at her feet. She reached down to pick him up, burying her face in his fur.

"That's Cheshire," Aunt Mal introduced. "And Scorcher and Unicorn are around here somewhere too. You'll find, my darlings, that we are the stereotype of 'crazy old cat ladies'."

Emma giggled again but Belle still felt unsure. She had never met these aunts before, though their mother had talked of them often. She hid behind Emma, cuddling the kitten close to her heart.

"Now why don't you come inside?" Aunt Mal's eyes gleamed and Aunt Tink clapped her hands in excitement. "I'm sure I know what we can do to occupy ourselves."

XXXX

It was hard not to feel peculiar in this new place—but it seemed that peculiarity was something the old house was accustomed to. Belle was not quite sure about Aunt Tink, who was flighty and eager to please or Aunt Mal, who was stern about her lightheartedness, and almost intimidating. But she liked having her own room, space to run, curious places to play with Emma, and the spare time to explore the house's vast rooms and corridors.

One sunny afternoon, while investigating the various scents of the garden, Emma noticed a few of the neighborhood children eyeing them through the fence. She skipped over, beaming.

"Hi, want to play?" She invited, hand on the gate to let them in. Belle swallowed, a cold feeling prickling her skin.

"_Witch_!"

Belle gasped when the stone hit Emma directly in the forehead. Suddenly, everything blurred together, the children's taunts, laughter, and she bent over her older sister, touching the blood gently.

"Out!" Aunt Mal suddenly appeared, bellowing at the children frightfully. "Out, before I turn you all into Yaoguai!" The children scattered and without a word, Aunt Mal scooped Emma up and strode towards the greenhouse, where the table was laid out. Aunt Tink watched with a baleful gaze as Aunt Mal gently set Emma down, dabbing something on her cut.

"I didn't do anything," Emma rubbed her eyes to keep from crying. Emma always hated tears, wouldn't even let herself sob during their mother's funeral.

"Shhh," Aunt Tink poured her a cup of tea, kissing her hair. "I know you didn't, pet." She glanced at Aunt Mal, who nodded back at her.

"You'll find, my dears…that this island is not particularly friendly towards our family," Aunt Mal said hesitantly, taking a seat at the head of the table.

"Why not?" Belle burst out. "What did we do?"

"Nothing, darling," Aunt Tink placed two large brownies in front of the girls, with plentiful dollops of ice cream.

"Tink is absolutely right," Aunt Mal said firmly. "For more than two hundred years, we Owens women have been blamed for everything that has ever gone wrong in this town."

"Is that why people hate us?" Emma wanted to know, digging into her brownie. She'd already forgotten the cut above her eye but Belle couldn't seem to tear her gaze away from it.

"They don't hate us, sweetheart," Aunt Tink said gently. "We just—we make them a little nervous."

"Let's face it, Tink," Aunt Mal snorted. "We Owens women have always created a stir. My darlings, it's time you knew something about your heritage. Our ancestor, Maria Owens—she was a witch. The first in our family. And you, my darlings, are the most recent in a long and distinguished line." She smiled and Belle got goosebumps. Emma's eyes widened.

It wasn't to say the news was shocking—Belle had always known in her young heart that there was something different about her family. She remembered her honest surprise when she found out that not everyone's mothers celebrated Yuletide rather than Christmas, or called Halloween Samhain. Not everyone kept a cauldron under their sink or a carefully concealed china cabinet which housed a bell, book, and candle. And certainly not everyone could _make_ things happen or have visions and dreams. But it was almost a relief to know that it wasn't just her odd immediate family—it was her _whole_ family.

"I remember Mommy talking about Maria," Emma spoke up. "They tried to hang her. Because she was a witch?"

"Well," Aunt Mal smirked. "The fact that our Aunt Maria was a bit of a heartbreaker didn't help. Nor did it help that most of her lovers had wives on the hanging committee." She winked cheekily at Emma who giggled at such irreverence.

"But no…" Aunt Mal continued thoughtfully, tapping a long finger against her chin. "I don't think it was either of those reasons. They feared her because she had a gift. A power that has been past on to you girls. She had the gift of magic. And it was that very same gift that saved her life."

Emma's eyes widened. "That's right! She jumped from the platform, broke her own noose and walked away!"

"Yes," Aunt Mal's eyes were sad. "And she was banished to this very island, with her unborn child growing in her belly. She waited for her lover to come rescue her…but he never came." Belle's eyes filled with tears. Somehow, it made her think of her mother.

"In a moment of despair, she cast a spell upon herself that she would never again feel the agony of love," Aunt Mal's tone darkened and Belle shivered at the strange, almost ancient look in her gaze. "But as her bitterness grew, the spell became a curse. A curse on any man who dared love an Owens woman."

"Now, really," Aunt Tink started to huff.

"And that's why our daddies died," Emma said flatly. "Because of the curse."

"Yes, my darling," Aunt Mal said softly. "Your mother knew Emma's father's time was limited. She heard the beetle ticking for David's death all day long. She knew that when you hear the sound of the death watch beetle, the man you love is doomed to die."

"But what about my father?" Belle spoke up as Emma's brow furrowed. "He married our mommy. Did the curse get him too?"

The aunts glanced at each other. "Sometimes," Aunt Tink said quietly. "Sometimes when our heart is breaking we throw ourselves into someone else's embrace—because it's easier than being alone."

"And sometimes," Aunt Mal put in wryly. "We feel guilt for things that are out of our control."

There was a long pause while the two girls ruminated on their words. Belle felt somewhat hollow. She remembered her father as a heavyset man, constantly complaining of the messiness of their house, a man who was warm to her, but rather cold to Emma. Their mother used to stare at him with listless eyes. Emma talked of her own father being handsome and charming, and Belle occasionally wished he'd been her father. That way, she might've had a chance at inheriting Emma's golden curls.

"Hey, my little witches," Aunt Tink broke both girls out of their reveries. "Let's go inside and cast some spells." Both girls squealed with excitement, nightmares of love and broken hearts escaping their thoughts.

XXXX

"Belle! Belle!"

Belle woke up groggily to Emma shaking her awake. "Mm…what?"

"Wake up, Belly-button!" Emma whispered urgently. "Someone's here. The aunts are casting!"

Belle yawned. "So? We cast just a few hours ago. Emma, I'm sleepy…" She turned her head into her pillow, ready to float back into her dreams. They'd lit candles with their breath and Aunt Mal had walked them through a simple invocation in their book of shadows.

'Not like this," Emma's eyes were bright. "They're casting a _love spell_."

Belle's blood ran cold. Something about the way she said it made her hair stand on end.

"I don't want to see that," She whispered urgently, burying her head under the blankets.

"Oh, don't be a scaredy-cat," Emma pulled the blankets off of her. "Don't you want to see what it's like? What love magic looks like?"

The only thing Belle wanted to do was hide under her bed. But her older sister wouldn't stand for that. Reluctantly, she took Emma's hand and crept out of their room, slowly gliding down the steps, stopping short of the kitchen.

There was no light in the kitchen, save a few silver candlesticks. Aunt Mal and Aunt Tink stood with a young woman who held a picture clasped to her chest. Aunt Mal was cooing at something in her hands, soothing it…Belle exhaled slowly, realizing a morning dove fluttered in her aunt's fingers.

"I want him to want me so much that he can't stand it," The woman hissed taking the crystal tipped needle from Aunt Tink's fingers. Belle couldn't resist a gasp, hiding her face in Emma's knees when the woman stabbed the dove through the heart.

"Be careful what you wish for," Aunt Tink murmured and a dark smile spread across Aunt Mal's face. Belle shivered in her sister's arms.

XXXX

"I thought you were sleepy," Emma remarked wryly. "You should be in bed, Belly-button."

Belle paid no heed, gathering materials in the small tower greenery. "This is important," She insisted. "This will keep me safe."

"Safe from what?" Emma wanted to know, folding her arms in front of her chest.

"Safe from love," Belle said firmly. "So no curse will ever kill me like it killed Mommy."

Emma blinked. Her expression softened and she went to Belle, hugging her. "Nothing's going to kill you, silly girl. You just have to be strong. Mommy was beautiful and kind, but she wasn't strong. You can wall it out. You can let nothing touch you."

"It will get you," Belle insisted. "You heard the aunts. I have to protect myself, so I'm making a spell." She went towards the balcony inhaling the scent of roses. She selected the reddest blooms, carefully clipping them and placing them into a small, slightly chipped teacup.

"He'll hear my call from a mile away," Belle's young voice became dreamlike, as if she were singing. "He'll drink my favorite kind of tea. He'll come from a distant land, his words will be shaped from there. He'll carry a silver-tipped cane—"

"Isn't that _Amas Veritas_?" Emma interrupted. "That's a true love summoning spell, Belly-button."

"I know," Belle said absently. She walked and gently plucked a spring of lilacs.

"He'll be layered," She murmured. "Just like love. He'll love his family more than anything else. He'll be marvelously kind but fearsome to his enemies—and his eyes will be the color of coffee. He won't—he won't fear my magic. His heart will be true. And he'll…he'll be able to spin!"

Emma suppressed a smile at the queer spell. "I thought you didn't want to fall in love."

"I don't," Belle said quietly, looking almost wistful. "The man I dreamed doesn't exist. And if he doesn't exist, I'll be safe. I won't die of a broken heart."

Emma's gaze was sweetly sympathetic. They went to the balcony together, listening to the crickets sing and the night wind play with their nightgowns. Belle raised her chipped teacup and the wind carried the petals and blossoms away.


	2. The Sound of the Death-Watch Beetle

Belle's childhood was far from idyllic. But there were moments of joy.

Her talents for magic grew each day, with Aunt Mal commenting she'd never seen such poise and capacity for knowledge. Belle devoured every book in their library, putting spells to memory with shocking speed and accuracy. She recited the histories of their ancestry, naming notable women and their accomplishments, using their knowledge and aspiration as her own path unto herself. She absorbed the world of witchcraft like a sponge, feeling as though she finally had a place in it.

Emma's talents emerged in time as well. She did not have Belle's thirst for knowledge or eidetic memory, but her instincts were sharp and natural. While Belle could cast one of the most complex spells from an ancient book with illegible writing, Emma could create spells on the fly, using her emotions and intuition as a guide. She cared little for the technicalities of magic or the poetry of the words, but her own natural style overflowed into a powerful sort of gift that she could command with less effort or mental power than Belle. The sisters' talents were different but robust, and Tink and Mal were delighted.

Tink attempted to be as good a mother as she knew how, baking sweets, never bothering to scold or punish. She loved snuggling with both girls, bringing them treats in bed, showering them both with kisses, telling them stories. She was affable and easy to get along with, though unfocused and flighty. She would begin her days with grand plans of baking soufflés, get halfway through the recipe, and suddenly decide her azaleas needed to be pruned and fertilized this instant. Near house fires were frequent and Belle and Emma often found themselves the ones to perform the day-to-day chores due to their aunt's scattered personality—but neither of the girls minded.

Mal was different, often hard to relate to. Whereas light and an almost mischievous innocence seemed to shine from Tink's exuberance, Mal seemed a darker soul. Not an evil—a darkness that reminded the girls of summer midnights, of ancient tapestries, cold winter mornings before the sun. Mal was partial to Hecate while Tink preferred worshiping a myriad variant on her mood. Mal was also less certain on how to relate to the young girls, aside from watching them protectively and critically teaching them. Belle was frightened of her at first, but she soon became used to the scent of jasmine and spice that lingered in the air around her, the way her smiles were dark and crafty. Emma and Belle gave her a wide berth for a while, until their first thunderstorm.

The girls hated thunderstorms. The night their mother had died had been a raucous, cruel thunderstorm with wicked lightning shattering the air. This night's thunderstorm was nowhere near that storm's intensity, nevertheless, both girls sprang from their bedtime snacks, running into the study. Aunt Mal, who'd been reading something of red leather with gilded edges, was surprised to find two shivering girls suddenly on her lap, their head buried into her shoulder.

"Gracious," She remarked drolly. "What's all this about? A little thunderstorm?"

Belle sobbed and Emma held her tightly. "We—we don't like them," She said in a quavering voice.

"Don't you know the best part of thunderstorms?" Aunt Mal wanted to know.

"When they're over?" Emma suggested and Aunt Mal laughed.

"No, silly things," She awkwardly patted both of their backs, relaxing a bit at the softness of the girls' hair. "It's a time for my favorite type of magic—and a time to make thunder cake." She hoisted both girls up, taking their hands and leading them into the kitchen.

Belle cringed at the flash of lighting. "I hate it," She sniffled and Aunt Mal's hand tightened on hers.

"Don't you worry," She said firmly. "A little storm like this—I may just be able to banish it. I'll see to it that nothing shall frighten my girls." The firmness and outrage in her voice, that a little storm would dare offend her blood, warmed both Emma and Belle's hearts. They spent the rest of the evening laughing in the kitchen, flinging cake batter at each other, learning the powerful properties of coriander and cinnamon, their hearts and heads so full, the storm was quickly forgotten.

It had seemed initially, after their fathers' and mother's death, that the only ones Belle and Emma could depend on were each other. But both girls came to learn that the aunts were on their side. The aunts, in their own peculiar way, loved them passionately, amidst the slander and gossip. The aunts weren't afraid of their gifts and were happy to continue where their mother left off, teaching and helping their powers grow.

Happiness, Belle thought, was possible here.

XXXX

_Twelve years later._

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Oh, come on, Belle," Emma huffed, dragging a large canvas bag to the balcony. "I can't stand it any longer. The whispers, the rocks, the jokes—I gotta get out of here. Out of here to someplace where no one's even heard of me."

Belle glanced at the night sky. It was a new moon, a time for new beginnings, but her stomach lurched at the idea that her older sister was leaving their home.

"I feel like I'm never going to see you again," Belle's voice trembled and Emma stopped short.

"Oh, Belly-button," Emma immediately wrapped her arms around her sister. "Of course you're going to see me again! We're gonna grow old together. We're gonna be just like the aunts, living in this house, playing matchmaker on all the townspeople, two old biddies with all these cats. We'll even die on the same day, in our sleep."

"Do you promise?" Belle asked seriously. Emma smiled, leaning down to retrieve her knife from her boot.

"Look," Emma said with a smile, drawing a quick cut down her hand. "My blood." She took Belle's hand and drew an identical red stripe down her palm. Belle gasped at the sharp pain.

"Your blood," Emma clasped their hands together. "Our blood. We're sisters. And we always will be." Belle's eyes filled with tears and she embraced her sister warmly.

"I love you, M&M," She whispered.

"I love you too, Belly-button," Emma whispered back. "It'll be all right. I promise." She hoisted her canvas bag to her shoulder, and swung her leg over the balcony. She clambered down carefully, stumbling slightly when she hit solid ground. Belle attempted not to sob as she watched her sister disappear into the darkness.

XXXX

The house was lonelier with Emma gone. Aunt Tink cried for days when she learned that Emma had disappeared and Aunt Mal went silent. Belle had once thought about going to college, somewhere off the island—but she hated leaving her aunts alone. In any case, despite the cruelty she'd endured, she loved living on this island. She longed to be a part of the community here, if only she knew how.

It was at Belle's urging, that the aunts eventually accompanied her to do some basic restocking of their pantry as well as visit the post office. Belle had an idea in her head of sending Emma a care package, assuming her sister would stay in one place long enough to receive it. Nevertheless, despite Emma living her life like a Johnny Cash song, she sent postcards frequently.

The day was overcast, making Belle wish she'd thought to grab her cardigan, and the aunts cheerfully chattered, smiling benignly at the terrified townspeople.

"Emma's in Tallahassee," Belle sighed, handing over the postcard to Aunt Mal as they exited the post office. "Goddess, I miss her."

"I know you do, sweetie," Tink said comfortingly. "Emma's a wanderer though, a gypsy. She's happier traveling than being on this island."

"If she had a normal life, she wouldn't want to leave so badly," Belle argued. "If—if _we_ were normal…"

"My darling girl, when are you going to learn that being normal is not necessarily a virtue?" Mal asked sharply. "It rather denotes a lack of courage."

"I couldn't agree more."

All three women stopped short. Belle blinked to see a curious-looking fellow grinning at them warmly. He wore a burgundy blazer and his hands never seemed to stop moving, whether it was shuffling a deck of cards or playing with a skinny tie.

"You're not from here," Mal observed. "Who might you be?"

"Correct," He grinned, revealing deep dimples and Belle flushed. "My name is Jefferson. Jefferson Madden. I'm creating a coffee table book, taking pictures of odd houses and the like. This island is full of history."

He smiled warmly directly towards Belle and she blushed and stammered something. The two aunts glanced at each other.

"I, um, we ought to be going," Belle cleared her throat. "We've…a day planned. Lots of…gardening."

"I've heard you have a magnificent garden," Jefferson remarked. "I'd love to take photos of it, add it to the spread."

"Well, of _course_," Tink said brightly. "Why don't you swing by tomorrow afternoon? I'm making fresh lemonade and really our blooms _are_ magnificent this time of year. You ought to see Belle's roses…"

"Oh, yes," Mal's expression was a tad more critical, but nonetheless eager. "Drop by. Belle will be baking too, and you should really—"

"We have to go now," Belle said firmly taking her aunts arms, her face flaming. "Goodbye!"

XXXX

The aunts were behaving strangely. Belle was not blind to their machinations, and quite frankly, she intended on locking herself in her bedroom with an Austen novel until she was sure Mr. Madden was gone. She had no intention of being a part of their silly matchmaking scheme.

Besides. Jefferson Madden, despite his seeming attraction to the obscure and uncommon—people feared her. They feared her gifts. He hadn't been on the island long enough to hear the talk and whispers, to hear the legend of the Owens women, how they killed any man bewitched by their beauty. He may have enough of a quirky personality to like her now, but later on…

"Belle, darling," Mal called, opening the back door. "Won't you come out into the garden with us for a spell?" Tink giggled madly and Belle rolled her eyes.

"No, aunts," She said firmly. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Just for a minute, Belle," Mal requested. "No one knows the roses better than you, and Jefferson really ought to seem them in their glory."

Belle sighed. "Fine. But I'm not staying here while you two make a fool of yourselves." She walked into the garden right when the grandfather clock struck twelve.

Jefferson turned towards her and smiled. She was suddenly overcome with a tidal wave of emotion, as if she was standing on the edge of a cliff and had jumped into cool, green waters. To her shock, Jefferson seemed strangely affected too, blinking in confusion, staring at her like he had never seen a woman before.

"He-hello," Belle said shyly.

Jefferson smiled again, taking her hands. Before she could think clearly, she was in his arms, and his kiss felt like nothing she'd ever felt before. In the background, she heard the aunts squealing.

XXXX

_Dear Emma,_

_ Today is our third anniversary. And all I have to show for it is two beautiful little girls and a husband I can't stop kissing. Oh, M&M…I wish you were here. I wish you could see us. No more stones being thrown, no taunts cried out. I never imagined I could have a life so…normal. Though Jefferson loathes the word!_

_ Grace has become obsessed with watercolors and paints. The walls of our house have become splotched with bright colors and weird designs, but I don't have the heart to scold her. She's just so excited about bringing pictures to life. Jefferson is enthusiastic too, mad artist that he is. And of course, Joy wants to do anything Grace wants to do, though she's more apt to get paint all over her clothes than anything else. _

_ Our house is small, but we're hoping to save up for a bigger one, as soon as our shop takes off. The advance from Jefferson's latest book has really helped. As soon as we do, I'll make sure there's a guest room specifically for you, whenever you want to come over. _

_I love you, my sister. Please visit soon. _

_Love, _

_Belle_

_Dear Belle,_

_I'm so glad to hear from you! _

_L.A. is hot. Crowded. Too many people who act like they're movie stars. But even so, I've made some friends. It's nice being anonymous, you know? No one knowing of the curse, our family, our gifts. Just being another girl alone at the bar. I like it. I like it a lot. _

_But you know, I'm not…necessarily alone. _

_There's a guy. I know, I'm sure the aunts have fallen off their chairs in excitement and I'm sure you let out a noise only audible to dogs, but…his name is Killian. Killian Jones. And he and I…I guess we're sort of kindred spirits, you know? A lot in common. Not to mention, he's sexy as hell. I've always been so comfortable on my own, it's strange letting someone into my life—and even stranger that someone wants to be in my life…but I can't help it. _

_Killian Jones. Who'd have thought?_

_I love you too, Belly-button._

_All my love,_

_Emma_

Belle awoke to an unfamiliar sound that made her stomach lurch in anxiety. She frowned at first, taking in her surroundings. It was the middle of the night. Joy had somehow conned her way into their bed, Jefferson was snoring softly, and there seemed to be relative peace. She listened to the sound of her husband and daughter's breathing, trying to calm her anxious heart.

She heard it again. A clicking or chirping, almost like a cicada—but darker.

_ For when you hear the sound of the death-watch beetle, the man you love is doomed to die._

The morning came normally, with Belle rushing about the kitchen to prepare everyone breakfast, Jefferson giving them all a kiss goodbye, as he wanted to get some decent photos of the bicycle race today. Belle's feeling of disquiet only increased as the morning passed—no matter what she did, she was completely unable to escape the beetle's ticks.

Belle was no longer able to pretend that it was her imagination.

Desperately, she began to search for the source of the chirp. She swore she saw a black beetle slip between the floorboards, and like a maniac, she grabbed a fireplace poker and started to tear the boards apart.

_Not again_, she thought desperately. _Not like Mom…no, don't do this, Goddess, no!_

In her mind's eye, she pictured Jefferson, walking down the street, his camera in his arms, whistling off-key. Her feelings of dread intensified and she suddenly felt faint.

He was greeting everyone so cheerfully, they smiled at him so tolerantly, that odd Jefferson Madden, who'd chosen to marry an Owens woman, despite his better judgment. A black dog barked at him in warning and Jefferson shushed him, never breaking his stride as he started to cross the street.

"No, please!" Belle cried, digging her fingers into the earth beneath the floorboards. "Please, no! Don't! _Please_!"

_"Jefferson, look out_!"

Belle watched, trapped within the walls of her mind's eye, as a truck came out of nowhere, hitting her husband. She watched his camera fall upon the pavement, shattering the lens. She screamed, her voice full of her husband's pain and her own personal agony. She could only see blood, darkness, and tears before her world wend dark.


End file.
